What I could not ignore was the dread settling into my chest.
The Ethereal Queen was no longer a mystery. She was a female, complete with a sapphire blue tail that turned into muscular legs and a consort at her side. She had the allegiance not only of Evander and her own people, but of the force of elementals that Agravayn had assembled as well.
Evander had referred to her as the Ethereal Queen. While we’d not yet discussed the prophecy or seen any exhibition of her powers, the words said enough. They meant that Evander and his new wife were aware of the prophecy’s existence. Did they know the final line as well, the one that required the sacrifice?
A small ray of hope lit in the night.
Maybe she would not agree.
I already knew Veyka’s mind. I’d felt her terror while she fought the succubus horde in the village and then on the land bridge. I’d heard the gasp she tried to hide as we picked our way back across the Crossing to where the terrestrials were setting up camp on the eastern cliffs.
She would not wait.
She understood what I’d known all along—why I’d pushed so desperately for the amorite weapons. The war with the succubus was not just dangerous. It was deadly. Our kingdom would be decimated, even if we eventually emerged as the victors. Annwyn would suffer. Every being in Annwyn would be touched by the darkness in one way or another, whether it be the loss of their own soul to the succubus or those of their loved ones.
And Veyka could spare them all.
But only if the Ethereal Queen—Mya, that was her name—only if she agreed. The carvings on the standing stones depicted both queens.Together they must stand, to defeat what once thought dead. Together they must give, if any shall live to the end.
Accolon’s final words before he’d woken me from the enchanted sleep were clear. To banish the succubus required the sacrifice of both the Void and Ethereal Queens.
But maybe Mya would not agree.
Maybe Evander would not allow his new wife to make the sacrifice.
That thought tasted bitter in my mouth. If Mya was anything like my own wife, he would not be able to stop her. Even in sleep, Veyka made demands of me. She nestled her calf between my legs, held my fingers laced tight with her own.
I would go with Veyka gladly, abandoning this realm to fight for itself against the succubus. I would goanywhereif it meant that she would live. But she would not leave. The heart she’dtried so hard to protect, to ignore, had grown too much. She loved too deeply. She would die for those she’d sworn to protect.
It was one of the reasons I’d fallen in love with her.
56
VEYKA
I woke in the dark hour before predawn. Just before the shift, where the promise of tomorrow did not yet linger in the air but the worries of yesterday had faded. I lay still for several long minutes, waiting to see if Arran was still awake. Every time I’d rolled over or reached for a sip of water, I'd found him watching me. He did not even pretend to sleep. Merely pressed a soft kiss to my lips and pulled me tighter against him.
But his breathing was even and steady. When I fluttered my eyes open to examine him from beneath my lashes, his own were closed despite the footsteps only a few feet from the opening of our tent. I’d learned quickly that an army camp was not a quiet place, nor a dark one. With so many bodies encamped together, there was always someone up seeking a place to relieve themselves or a bite of food. Or slipping from one warm bed to another. Then there were the patrols. Flora-gifted sent vines to creep around the perimeter, while the fauna-gifted patrolled on four legs or from the air.
I suspected Lyrena had taken a shift outside our tent. This one, at least, was roomier than the low-slung, single-poled contraption we’d used when traveling across the continent forthe first time. A proper army camp called for a proper tent—especially when it housed not only that army’s commander, but its king and queen.
Sliding from the bed was easy. Disentangling myself from Arran was harder. I’d barely managed to get off my clothes before falling into our bedrolls. I tugged on a pair of trousers—failed to get them past my hips—nope, those are Arran’s.
A little more digging and I found my own more generously cut leggings. I pulled on the first tunic I found, a small purr of appreciation sneaking out of my lips when I recognized Arran’s scent clinging to the wool.
“Where are you going?”
My teeth sank into my lower lip, stopping just short of drawing blood. If Arran caught a whiff, if his beast scented my blood, I’d never make it past the tent opening.
A low, sleepy growl brushed against my consciousness. “Veyka?” he hummed.
The urge to reach for him was physical. A tug at the center of my chest, radiating through the sinews of muscle to my hand. My fingertips curled for the silky tendrils of his hair, my palm heating for the burn of stubble across his jaw.
But I forced a fist.
“Not far,” I promised.
“Hold on,” he rolled over. “I’m coming with you.”
